


The Wheel of Fate is Turning (Straight into Oncoming Traffic)

by Dragonomatopoeia (IntelligentAirhead)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: ALSO heads up this does deal with issues brought up in the original source material so stay safe, Also I headcanon literally every phantom thief as neurodivergent, Also PTSD and C-PTSD because none of these kids have had it easy, Ann and Shiho are in love but the ship doesn't play a huge part so I didn't tag it, Ensemble Cast, Gen, HC: Nonbinary Protagonist, I would have tagged every friendship possible in the phantom thieves but that's SIXTY FOUR TAGS, Inverted New Game plus, Just trust me they're all friends and love each other, Major Endgame Spoilers, New Game Plus, Nonbinary Character, POV Alternating, Persona 5 Protagonist Has A Palace, Phantom Thieves: Autism and ADHD solidarity, Playing ball with Jungian psychology as a whole, Talking about mutual trauma with your friends, Teenagers given the ability to go back in time and the inevitable shenanigans that ensue, Yusuke and Ryuji trying hard to date one another is also a feature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntelligentAirhead/pseuds/Dragonomatopoeia
Summary: Nothing has ever come easy to the Phantom Thieves, so it shouldn't come as a surprise when victory is a bit more fleeting than imagined.Confronted with the prospect of reliving their chaotic year, the team is determined to save as many people as they can as quickly as possible. They're stronger, more experienced, and determined to face on every challenge with confidence. After all, they remember the original course of events.Now, if only their leader could say the same.(An inverted New Game Plus fic, of a sort)





	1. Prologue: The Magician Inverted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sociallinkmax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociallinkmax/gifts), [obstinateRixatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinateRixatrix/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've literally been planning this fic for a year. Wild.
> 
> Anyway, as a heads up, I'm using the name Akira for the protagonist because that's what I used in my game playthrough before the official name was announced. Also, I've never seen the anime and kinda want to keep my characterization isolated from Anime Characterization.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [Edit] Heads up: some of the fic will address issues brought up in the source material. I'll try to provide appropriate warnings in chapter notes as pertinent topics come up.

“Does anyone need coffee?” Akira asks, struggling to keep their bag from dipping into the disgusting cocktail of gore and rainwater swilling around their waist.

“I think we’re alright,” Makoto says, looking far too amused at the suggestion as she ducks to avoid another spire of bone. “There’s only so much that coffee can do.”

Haru makes a soft sound, and Akira shoots her a commiserating look. Obviously Makoto isn’t familiar with the intricacies of good coffee. They’ll have to remedy that as soon as they figure out how to fix… well, Shibuya as a whole, really. Maybe all of Tokyo, if Jaldabaoth managed to take it that far.

Grotesque bone spires and blood-tainted floodwater is a hard look to pull off for anyone, and the whole of Tokyo wouldn’t wear it any better than Shibuya does. It pulls alongside trying-too-hard, then waves jauntily before speeding far beyond its boundaries. Some of Futaba’s MMOs don’t even manage this level of unnecessary edginess, and they’re literally designed to look like apocalyptic hellscapes.

Not that Akira’s one to talk. They shot a bullet through that glass house the second their soul sent forth a third iteration of the devil. Even if it _was_ cool as hell.

Akira bites the inside of their cheek, a withheld snort coming out as more of a puff of air. No pun intended, sure, but really. _Hell._

Wait, no, ‘cool as hell’— even better. They need to save that one for later, when everyone’s had time to recharge from slogging through disgusting, gore-strewn city streets; Makoto and Haru will appreciate the literary reference. Ryuji and Mona won’t care, probably, and Futaba will hate everything about it, but it’s Akira’s burden as her sibling to make bad puns at her until the day she murders them, so. Fair’s fair. Besides, Yusuke’s never met a pun he didn’t like, and he did say something about how he’d been looking at illustrated classics for symbology a while back, so he’d probably given _Inferno_ a glance, at least _._

Akira’s step slows in the moment they take to consider and reject taking the time to unpack all the reasons the devil is a fair representation of— well, pretty much everything they are as a person. Three times over, even, because apparently they’re multifaceted like that.

Something squelches under Akira’s shoe, and the gore is definitely a bit much. It’s settled. Everyone, no matter what final form their soul may take, gets a vote on the objective grossness of bloody floodwater. Bloodwater.

Akira opens their mouth, ready to ask if the team is capable of changing their own cognition so that the bloodwater smells a little less like metal and decay, when everything shifts.

The water around them hardens, then shatters like glass. There’s a sound like windchimes as the shards fall upwards, like a broken window collapsing in reverse. As they ascend, they grow smaller, looking more like flower petals than glass.

The intake of Haru’s breath is almost more startling than the glass. “So beautiful…”

“Yeah,” Ann agrees, and Akira wants to nod, but they’re frozen, caught between awe and knowing that any well-played sleight of hand needs a good distraction. They’ve won too much today to think the house will let them leave without penalty.

“My word,” Yusuke breathes, and the world is glowing, pulling apart into flash powder before anyone has time to react.

“The whole world is a product of cognition,” Morgana’s voice lectures from behind them. “Not just the metaverse.”

His voice is fond enough that Akira can feel their shoulders untense at the sound, even if it is a bit exasperating that Morgana can’t wait a bit before dumping more information on them. Fighting god takes a lot of mental power, and honestly, Akira’s too exhausted to process any more information about the power of collective perception. They can probably be forgiven for zoning out a bit, anyway.

Besides, Morgana loves lecturing. He can just explain it all again later, when Akira’s brain isn’t working at ten percent power.  

“—eely remade. The same goes for you, and everyone else.”

If that’s true, it’s a wonder that Morgana hasn’t reshaped reality for the sake of sushi before. Akira turns toward their teammate, considering making the joke aloud, and— That isn’t right.

“Dude, Mona!”

“Mona-chan!

Mona is shimmering. His outline ripples and sparks like a mirage, like the vague form of the city around them, like the piece of concrete lifting up into non-existence behind him, and no, no, this isn’t right, this—

“—can’t be happening!” Ann is saying, and everyone’s rushing forward. They have to get to Mona. They have to do something. Anything.

A gash opens up in the ground in front of them, breaking them apart, filled with that same inescapable light, and Akira can barely see, but they have to keep their eyes on Mona.

Mona, who’s staring back at them with the terrifying serenity of acceptance. He smiles at them, the way only he can manage.

“Soon, a new world will come. One where mankind isn’t held captive.” He turns, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “The world will shine brightly as long as you hold hope in your hearts.”

Mona begins to rise into the air, and Akira grits their teeth, holding back a hysterical laugh. What’s the use of some shining, eternal light if it takes your friends away?

“But what’s going to happen to you?” Makoto asks, voice thick with desperation.

Mona doesn’t answer.

“Remember, there’s no such thing as the real world,” he says instead. “What each person sees and feels… those are what shape reality.”

What about loneliness then? What about the crushing emptiness of being left behind again, of losing a best friend? _What kind of reality can come from that?_

Akira is reaching up, hand trembling, but Mona’s lifting higher and higher, and every second seems to whittle more and more away from him until he looks like a glass figurine, transparent and fragile and ready to _shatter,_ and he can’t, Mona can’t leave again, he’s their friend, and it’s not fair, and they’re tired, and it _isn’t fucking fair._

They won their ‘unjust game’! They won!

What was the point of any of it if Akira is just going to lose their friends anyway?

Akira feels the familiar distance that comes with the rush consuming them, the fury at injustice that pushes at their stomach, a heavy weight tossed around in a roiling sea. The flush of heat starts racing up their neck, their ears, their face, pulses, surging like fire seeking release.  

This can’t happen. Akira won’t let it. They won’t watch as their friend is taken from them. Not again.

Akira closes their eyes, and they want to go back.

And the world, still fragile and already overwhelmed with millions of conflicting desires and perceptions as it reforms, is unprepared for this wave of desperation crashing against it.  So, incapable of any other response, it gives them what they want.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for riding with us today,” a tinny voice announces. “We will be arriving in Shibuya shortly.”

Akira looks around, their bleary, travel-tired eyes catching on some of the ads on the train— “If you see something, say something!”

Funny. In their experience, saying something led to criminal charges. For accuracy’s sake, the ad should probably say something more along the lines of “If you see any of those nasty poor people or delinquents, be sure to let us know! However, if the piece of shit you see groping someone happens to be wearing a name brand, keep it to your goddamn self.”  

Akira had missed their calling in advertising. They should go into copywriting.

“—ental shutdown?”

“It’s the truth!”  

The girls on the other side of the traincar have been getting progressively louder as their conversation goes on. It’s hard _not_ to eavesdrop, especially when they’re throwing words around like ‘occult,’ and ‘mental shutdown,’ and ‘conspiracy’. A masterful duet performed in the key of weird conversations to have on public transportation.

Considering Akira’s luck lately, it figures that the train finally pulls to a stop the second they start listening in earnest, and then everyone’s too busy scrambling for their bags to gossip.

After bravely struggling through the station and into the open station square, Akira redirects their efforts towards the marginally less confusing battlefield of their phone’s navigation app. They’ve been to Tokyo exactly twice before, and this is their first time flying it solo. Keeping their eyes glued to the map is their best bet if they want to avoid stumbling onto a one-stop train to Sapporo.

It takes exactly twenty seconds for that plan to go down the drain. Tokyo is filled with _people,_ all moving in concert like a crowded dance ensemble, and a school trip is the closest Akira’s ever come to learning the steps.

They look between the crowd and their phone, hesitating. As they watch, a man staring down at his cellphone rams straight into a couple, and the ensuing argument explodes with the speed and force of a bottle rocket.

So. Keeping their eyes on the map _and_ the crowd isn’t an option then. Great.

Akira takes a breath. The most obvious solution is to cut the problem into chunks. All they have to do is remember the first couple of directions, find somewhere away from the crowd to regroup and reroute, and start the cycle over again.

Which would be a great idea if the ‘start navigation’ button wasn’t busy being consumed by an ominous red eye.

Akira swats at it. Maybe, just maybe, it’s some weird promotion, or a street-view feature that the app feels obligated to teach new users about, or anything other than a virus, please, phones are expensive and fiddly and Akira needs theirs to tell them how to navigate Shibuya _right now, please._

As if that isn’t enough, Akira can hear the conversation around them petering off, and it’ll be just their fucking luck if they’ve managed to break some ordinance against obstructing foot traffic or something within five minutes of arriving in the city. Parole? No such luxuries for teenagers who can’t instinctively pick their way through Shibuya. Might as well engrave it in stone: ‘Any individual displaying less than salmon-like ability to fight their way upstream shall be summarily ostracized and penned,’ so sayeth the lord.

It occurs to Akira that they might be panicking. They’re not sure, but they never are, really, and calming down is probably a good idea anyway. No time to freak out about hypotheticals— all that matters is catching their ride and finding the place they’re supposed to be staying. They can have an emotion about it later.

Akira takes a deep, steadying breath that is knocked out of them the second they look up.

The world has stopped.

Akira whirls around, but there’s no movement hidden in all three-hundred-and-sixty of the degrees they check. Until there is.

A flicker of blue light at the edge of their vision grows into roaring flames across the square, and it’s just like the bonfire they used to have during the summer festival, when Akira could have sworn they saw figures dancing in the fire, but they’d never seen a silhouette with _wings_ before, and—

There’s a flicker of a moment where Akira can see themself in the flames, and then the world is moving again.

Akira looks around, slowly. A woman with glasses nods on the phone. A cyclist shouts something at a man with a guitar. Students in uniform appear to be on their way home.

A cautious flick of the eyes tells Akira that the mysterious red app that was taking up most of their screen has been reduced to its original icon size.

Yeah. No.

Akira presses a finger to the app and— in one firm, confident movement— drags it straight into the trash bin. Whatever that was, they want nothing to do with it.

They’re going to stay out of trouble, keep their head down, and leave quietly when the year is up, and no weird app or travel-stress induced hallucination is going to change that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, things look a lot different from Ann's perspective. Or, well, anyone's really.
> 
> Thanks to Stella for editing, and to Max for making a shitpost over a year ago about this premise and being extremely indulgent when I picked it up and ran with it


	2. Two of Cups, Inverted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reversed, the Two of Cups can signify that a partnership has become more complicated, or that you lack the sense of trust and connection that was once there. Communication may be restricted or stifled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm trying to separate chapters by POV, this one turned out a lot shorter than what I'm used to. 
> 
> So! I'm also posting this and an interlude chapter, of a sort, in one convenient update.
> 
> [Content warning: vague references to abuse and sexual harassment, as is typical when talking about Kamoshida]

The thing is, Ann’s phone basically runs her life. It kind of has to: she’s got so many commitments that she’d never know what was happening when, otherwise. It tells her when she has a shoot, when there’s a flash sale going down at Problem Child, when she’s meeting Shiho, and even whether or not she has school, ever since an embarrassing string of mistakes three years ago. It’s not her fault holidays are hard to keep track of! Not that Ryuji or Shiho will let that stop them from making fun of her for it.

No matter what her friends might say though, Ann’s near-perfected the art of keeping her appointments, due in no small part to her trusty smartphone. Necessity has demands, and one such demand is that her calendar app proves eternally faithful and true, like a gallant knight. A gallant knight with, like, a desk job as an assistant or something. Reliable. Constant.  

And, in this instant, a goddamn liar.

Ann bites the inside of her cheek, staring down at the cavern her phone has burrowed into the landscape of discarded clothes on the floor. Betrayal is always hard, especially from a trusted source, but Ann can say with literally zero exaggeration that there’s no chance she’d ever be capable of seeing this coming.

For one, until a few minutes ago she could have sworn that she was in the middle of a post-semi-apocalyptic-but-not-really-since-we-avoided-it _-yay_ Shibuya. Last time Ann checked, her apartment was _not_ in Shibuya, and it’s a tad hard to imagine she missed making her way to her bedroom. It’s hard to miss anything while wading through a metric ton of blood, glass, and sparkles (in that order, as if _that_ isn’t enough tonal whiplash to send heads spinning).

For two, her phone says she has school. In, like, an hour, even. As in, good morning, get ready for school, and, by the way, it is definitely not Christmas Eve any more.

In fact, according to her phone, it’s _April._ Not even April first, which would at least contribute some sort of potential explanation, but April eleventh.

Ann scrunches up her face. Something’s rotten here, and she fully intends to find out what.

...The second she manages to find her phone again.

She huffs out a breath, then plunges her hand into the unholy depths of the clothes pile. Why does her room get messier the second she’s not looking? It was _so_ not this bad when she left earlier.

Finally, her hand catches along a hard surface, and she makes a triumphant noise, ripping the phone from the pile with the same force and skill Akira uses to rip off a mask… kinda.

Ann may overcompensate with the force, a little. Still, she catches herself, and if she throws up a triumphant peace sign on instinct, well, that’s just proper showmanship. No one can judge her in her own bedroom, anyway.

Laughing at herself a little, Ann unlocks her phone.

And immediately drops it again.

The laughter chokes off, killed in her throat. This cannot be happening. The number seared on the screen, leering up at her, is supposed to be blocked. The number’s owner isn’t even supposed to have access to that phone anymore, much less _her_ number.

This _cannot_ be happening. Not again. Not now.

Ann’s hands shudder as they drift up to her shoulders. No. No. She can fix this. Her friends… She needs to tell them. They can figure it out. They always figure it out. Together.

Ann nods to herself, firm, and fixes a glare at the phone. She will _not_ be afraid. Not of some scumbag who’s lower than dirt, and apparently needs to be pushed six feet lower still.

In one movement, Ann snaps her arm out, grabbing the phone and unlocking it before scrolling through her notifications for—

Where the hell is the groupchat?

Ann scrolls back and forth, but there’s nothing: no groupchat, no direct messages, not even the ridiculous picture of Morgana posing with a fish that Akira had sent her yesterday. Frantically, she flicks to her messages to Shiho, and those are all wrong too— there’s nothing about their upcoming trip together, no trace of their conversation about novelty crepes, nothing but terse reassurances that everything is fine, and that neither of them need to worry, like they’ve suddenly reverted back to—

Mother _fucker._

 

* * *

 

It’s April eleventh.

It’s April eleventh, which means that it’s the first day of school, and there is absolutely no way that Ann is reliving the worst week of her life second by excruciating second. Not a chance.

So! She’s going to fix this. Things are going to get better because Ann will _not_ allow them to get worse. And any obstacles that plan to get in her way? Better get running quick. They’ll need the head start.

First things first, though: she needs her friends.

Ann doesn’t know how long she stands underneath the overhang by the boutique near school, hood pulled tight. In a way, it’s a blessing: it gives her time to compose the essay’s worth of texts she needs to send Shiho. Still, by the time she has a rough draft hashed out in her notes, she’s regretting not wearing a thicker jacket, and she’s shivering long before she spots the familiar mop of frizzy black hair heading her way.

“Akira!” She calls, suddenly immune to the cold, her relief working better than any raincoat. “You’re okay!”

Akira’s eyes widen behind their glasses, and they pull up short. Good thing, too. With any more momentum, tackling them in a hug would probably have knocked their head into her chin, and Ann’s day is already sucking enough without a bruised jaw.

“Okay, do you have, like, any clue what’s happening? Because I am kind of freaking out!” Ann pulls back, hands still clamped on Akira’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Akira starts, hesitantly, and something in Ann’s stomach plummets. “But I—”

“Good morning!” A voice calls, and Ann freezes, her hands falling.

It’s funny, really. No matter how sensitive she may be to the cold, no matter how Hecate snarls when Yusuke’s attacks brush a little too close, nothing has ever made her blood freeze in her veins, has robbed her of feeling the way that voice does.

“—ride to school?”

For a moment, Ann can’t respond. Her stomach is dense and heavy, and she’s either going to throw up or curl up into a ball, but hell if she knows which one because he’s right there, staring at her like nothing’s changed, like she’s trapped in that same pit, helpless as ever.

But she’s not.

She clenches her fists and turns, facing Kamoshida head on.

Go to hell, you perverted bastard, she thinks, then pastes on a smile. “No thanks! We’re waiting up for a friend; I’m afraid he forgot something important.”

Akira shoots her a look of blatant concern that probably looks more like bemusement to Kamoshida, and tenses. They move so they’re almost positioned in front of her, just barely, and the comfort of having a friend standing with her is enough that she can feel herself straightening.  

Kamoshida’s eyes narrow for a moment. Then the bastard grins.  “Really?” He asks, sounding the word out. If only he could choke and die on it. “If you take too long, Suzui-san might worry.”

Ann’s hand is halfway to her face, Hecate’s name forming on her lips, before she realizes this isn’t the metaverse. A curse flickers and dies in the back of her mind, a sputtering coal.

It’s for the best. Incineration lasts only a moment, but the satisfaction of making him wallow in his guilt for the rest of his life? Decades.

Still, it’s a nice image. Ashes to fake leather, dust to dust.

“It’s fine. I’ll text—”

“Get away from her, you perverted creep!”

Ann’s interrupted by perhaps the sweetest sound in existence: her best friend making an absolute ass of himself.

They all turn at once, staring as Ryuji barrels towards them… and dramatically overshoots.

“Watch it, Sakamoto,” Kamoshida says, attempting a mild tone with a worse chance of landing than an exploding plane. “I’d be careful about what I accuse my teachers of, if I were you.”

“Good thing you’re not, then,” Ryuji says, grin wide and feral. It’d almost be cool, if he weren’t hunched over and panting. He must have run straight from the station.

Ann isn’t sure when it happens, but when she looks up, Akira has moved so they’re directly between Kamoshida and her, stance defensive. After a moment, Ryuji moves to stand beside them.

“I expected you to keep better company than this,” Kamoshida grits out. The unspoken implication makes Ann want to gag. By the way Akira and Ryuji react, they haven’t missed it either.

Well, Ann’s plan to lay low for the morning is ruined. Her friends have absolutely no sense of self preservation or impulse control, and if left to their own devices, they would probably die immediately.

She loves them so much.

“I think I’m in better company than you’ll ever be, actually,” Ann replies, voice dripping sugar. Then, she drops the mask, letting her rage shine through for a single, burning moment. “Go cry about it, scumbag.”

In one smooth movement, she captures her teammates’ hands and runs for the alley. There’s no possible way this won’t bite them all in the ass, but she doesn’t care. It isn’t like she was ever going to let Kamoshida run free for as long as he did last time, anyway. This is just one more incentive to further speed up the process.

“Okay,” Ryuji huffs, once they’ve stopped. “Obv— Obviously… oof. One… sec.” He gulps in a breath. “Okay. So, obviously you remember. Got me all worried for nothin’.” He shakes his head. “I thought this might turn out like one of those movies, with only one of us stuck in a loop or something.” He pauses, frowning. “Wait, shit. Should I be happy about that, actually? ‘Cause that means you’re stuck with me.”

Akira opens their mouth, then closes it, apparently thinking better of it. Ann should open a betting pool on whose head will explode from overthinking first: Makoto or Akira.

“Alright, out with it, leader.” Ryuji claps Akira on the back, and they startle. “What’ve you got swirling around in there?”

If anything, Akira looks even more uncomfortable.

“Honestly, Ryuji.” Ann rolls her eyes. “Not everyone can shrug things off like you can.” She flashes a smile at Akira. “Although, I have to say, I kinda thought that if anyone would be rolling with something this weird, it’d be you. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one freaking out.”

“Hey! That’s basically what I just said!”

“No, you were saying something about movies that didn’t make sense,” Ann countered. It’s easy to fall back into the easy rhythm of an argument that doesn’t matter with Ryuji, which is pretty much exactly why they shouldn’t be doing it. They have a palace to infiltrate, after all. Still... Ann’s only human, and Ryuji’s the annoying brother she’s always had.

Before they can really get started, though, Akira breaks their silence.

“Have we… Have we met before?”

There’s a long pause, pregnant enough to have quintuplets.

“Shit,” Ryuji says, as if this isn’t his fault for jinxing them. Then, again, “Ah, _shit.”_

“You don’t… You don’t remember?” Ann asks, just to be sure.

Akira shakes their head, and okay. Okay! No panic. No panicking. This is... manageable, still, probably. Way harder than first anticipated, but whatever! They can make this work!

“Okay,” Ryuji starts, scratching the back of his head, “so, uh— Well, that’s Takamaki Ann, over there, and I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, but you can just— Just call me Ryuji, okay? It’d be weird to…” He trails off, expression lost. Then his expression resolves. Kind of.

“The thing is, we—” He opens and closes his mouth. This is painful to watch. “Okay, so, like a year ago— except also now, as in today—” Like Morgana in bus mode, plowing into a shadow pileup. “We went to this other world, and, uh...” In slow motion.

“It’ll be faster if we just show them,” Ann cuts him off, putting him out of his misery. She turns to Akira, biting her lip. “Do you have the metanav installed?”

“Oh, yeah!” Ryuji lights up, obviously relieved. “Dude, check your phone!”

Akira blinks at them, as slow and judgmental as a cat. “What.”

“Check your phone for the metnav,” Ann repeats. “It’ll— Just trust us, okay? This will make a lot more sense if we’re in the metaverse.”

“The what?” Akira shoves their hands in their pockets, agitated. “What do you mean, ‘metaverse’? What’s a ‘metanav’?”

“The shady looking app with the creepy eye logo that you can’t delete,” Ryuji chimes in. “Bright red. Can’t miss it.”

“Did you…” Akira backs up towards the wall, eyes narrowing. Fantastic. Score for the Phantom Thieves: intimidating the one time they really, really shouldn’t be. “Did you put that on my phone? Who are you people?”

Ryuji, bless his completely oblivious heart, snorts. “You think we could manage that? We’re not, like, Medjed _.”_

“Who…?” Akira asks, and Ann feels her stomach twist. Your sister, she wants to say, but if anything would make this situation worse, it’d be yet another bomb on top of the ruins of this conversation.

“This would be so much easier if we could just show you,” Ann says, repeating herself _again_ because this entire frustrating conversation _sucks._

“Then show me,” Akira challenges, and the familiar steel in their eyes looks a lot different from the other side, and Ann hates this. She isn’t used to missing someone when they’re standing in front of her. Everything feels weird and awful, but Shiho’s safety comes first, and they don’t have time to do this right, or fix it, or figure out where to even start.

“We don’t have the app,” Ryuji says, wincing. Then, after a moment. “Or, at least, I don’t think we do?”

Ann opens her mouth, then stops. She would have seen it, right? Or… would she? Would Ryuji?

Absolutely not.

She and Ryuji look at each other for a long moment. Then, in tandem, they reach for their phones. The red eye, when Ann finds it, looks almost as accusing as Akira does.

Well. Better late than never?

“OK!” Ann says, forcing cheer. “Time for a field trip.” She taps through the interface until she finds the microphone. “Kamoshida, pervert, castle,” she enunciates.

“What—” Akira starts to question, but they’re cut off by the metnav announcing their departure. Bewildered, they look around as the world begins to shimmer and warp.

“Hey,” Ryuji whispers to Ann, leaning over to talk directly into her ear. “Is it really okay to just throw them in headfirst like this? They got in some serious trouble when they turned up late last go-around. And that’s without the whole...” He makes a gesture, encompassing the entire conversation with Kamoshida.

“It’ll be fine,” Ann says, watching as the world ripples around them. “We’ll be back before anyone even knows we’re gone.”


	3. Interlude: Ace of Swords, Inverted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ace of Swords, when reversed, can indicate that you are missing vital information that would help you make a clear decision with regards to what you wish to accomplish.

Makoto has a stress headache, and she doesn’t have anyone but her friends to blame. 

That isn’t exactly fair. Makoto has many people to blame, considering the year has started all over again, apparently, and her itemized list of individuals who want her and her friends expelled, suffering, or dead has found entire sections of crossed out names unexpectedly reinstated. If she thinks too long about that, however, she will have a panic attack, and she simply cannot afford that right now.

More than anything, Makoto needs to stay focused on what she can actually achieve, right here, right now. Which, in this case, means running damage control.

“Good morning, Ms. Kawakami,” Makoto greets, stepping into the faculty office. 

“Wh—” The teacher jerks to attention, and Makoto politely pretends she didn’t see her cradling her head in her arms. “I mean, good morning, Niijima-san. What can I help you with?” The blood seems to drain from her face. “Does the principal need—”

“No, nothing like that,” Makoto says, cutting her off at the pass. The last thing she needs is for the principal to get involved. “I’m just delivering a message. Apparently, the new student will be a bit late today.”

“But their guardian only just called to confirm that they’d left early this morning,” Ms. Kawakami objects.

“Yes, well…” Makoto laughs, and it comes out only a little hysterical. “You know how it is. New students get lost, and…” Think fast. She has to think fast. “There was a train crash this morning!” Well, it was definitely fast. There was just no thinking involved.

“What?” The teacher shoots up out of her chair, knuckles bleached against the desk. 

“They’re fine,” Makoto backtracks. “They’re just delayed at the station, along with Takamaki-san and Sakamoto-san. But, who knows, maybe this was, um, traumatic enough that they might decide to stay home, as you can imagine. Just for today, though.” She smiles. “Studies are important, after all.”

Ms. Kawakami stares at her, concern melting into confusion. “But Mr. Kamoshida said that he’d seen Sakamato-kun and Takamaki-san this morning.” She sighs, her eyes lighting up in understanding. “I’m sorry, Niijima-san. I know you want to think the best of your underclassmen, but I think they may have taken advantage of this incident to skip school.” 

Makoto takes a moment to close her eyes and collect herself. There’s nothing for it. She’s going to have to kill her teammates. 

The second they get back, they’re having a team meeting that covers establishing  _ plausible  _ alibis. Akira, at least, should know better. They’re in charge of shadow negotiations, for peace’s sake.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a sweet, smooth voice interrupts, “but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” 

Haru steps into the room, sending an apologetic courtesy bow in Ms. Kawakami’s direction, and Makoto has never been more grateful to see anyone in her life.

“I was just stopping by for supply requisition forms, since the gardening club is expecting more members than usual this year, but, well…” Haru bites her lip, looking down demurely. “I’m not sure if this helps, but I did overhear two students talk about getting back on the train this morning. Apparently, they’d forgotten something important at the last stop.” Haru’s pause is deliberate— long enough to get a point across, but short enough that no one can interrupt her. “They were both blonde, and they wore modified uniforms, from what I remember, but I can’t think of any other distinguishing features. I’m sorry.”

Ms. Kawakami looks concerned all over again, and the second she looks away, Haru flashes Makoto a pleased smile that vanishes as quickly as it appears. 

It’s all Makoto can do not to stare, slack-jawed at her friend. In the space of a few seconds, Haru’s won them the time they need, and an alibi. Better than that, she’s won them an ally.

Well. Makoto knows who’s leading that particular team workshop. 

“Oh dear,” Ms. Kawakami says, looking distraught, and Makoto takes a moment to feel sorry for the teacher. From what Akira says, this is just one more weight on the poor woman’s back. “I hope they’re alright.”

Haru smiles beatifically at her. “I’m sure they know what they’re doing.” Her eyes dart to Makoto, communicating that it’s meant to be more of a comfort for her than Ms. Kawakami.

Makoto lets herself breathe. 

Haru’s right. Their friends are probably just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: it's Ryuji time, and this chariot doesn't have brakes


	4. Ace of Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ace of Wands can indicate the start of a journey to make your wishes a reality, or an intimidating strength of will to do so; however, you should be careful not to lose direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Sorry for the unexpected delay in posting. 
> 
> Fortunately, the spring semester is over, so I'm no longer juggling five jobs and about fifteen pages worth of essays a week. With any luck, that means updates will be a bit more frequent. 
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy the upcoming chapter!
> 
> [Content warning: references made to canon-typical violence]

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Akira asks, as if the answer’s changed sometime in the five seconds it’s taken to get from one cell to another. Or five seconds before that, back in the dungeon hallway, or five seconds before _that,_ while Kamoshida was still shoutin’ at ‘em from the cell they’d locked him in _._ Which, considering how weird this entire situation is? Puts some even weirder priorities on display.

Like, if Ryuji were Akira, he’d have a lot more questions about the cognitive stuff, or Kamoshida’s freakin’ ugly cape-thong combo, not whether Ryuji can handle a bit of bruising.

Hell, Akira had even asked if Ryuji was okay while he was doing literal, actual exercises, even if it was just some forward leg swings— warming up is important, after all, and time travel really jacks with a guy’s physical therapy regimen.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ryuji says, waving them off.

“Define fine.”

Ryuji sighs. He’s gotta hand it to them: if Akira’s anything, it’s consistent. Show a hint of weakness and they’ll be there, shoving food and bandaids at the problem. Give ‘em a first aid kit and they’ll want an IV and some spare packets of blood in their back pocket. Nevermind the fact that half the team has magic healing powers, and none of them would or should be trusted to handle a blood transfusion. Or that overreacting never did much of a favor for anybody.

Hell, before this year— or, the first version of it, anyway—  Ryuji’s philosophy was simple: if it can’t be fixed by rubbing a little dirt on it, hit the hospital. Now it’s more like, ‘if it can’t be fixed with a samarecarm, holy effin’ _shit,_ man,’ but it’s the same basic principle. Bruised windpipe? Pfft. Blip on the radar.

“Like I said, I’m sturdy,” Ryuji responds, squinting through the bars of yet another cell, rattling them for good measure. No dice. Still no yellow bandana, giant head or big, accusing eyes in sight.

“You had an axe crushing your throat,” Akira objects, since they’ve never heard of letting things go in their life.

“Eh, it’s not the first time,” Ryuji says, tossing it out with the casual underhand of a little league pitcher.

“It’s not— _what?”_ And there it goes, smacked out of the ballpark with enough force that it might as well have been packed full of gunpowder.

“Like I said, we’ve been here before.” Ryuji shrugs. “Ann wants to clear this place out as fast as possible— can’t blame her there— So…” He looks through the bars of the nearest cell. Nothing. “Figured we might as well get you a persona while she looks for the map.”

“You still haven’t explained— wait.” Akira pulls up short. “You told Takamaki-san you wanted to look for your friend.” Their words are slow and over-enunciated. “And that’s why you wanted to split up.”

“We _are_ looking for our friend,” Ryuji points out, kicking at the nearby bars to help illustrate his point. Also ‘cause he’s frustrated. Dual purpose. Like his plan!

Sure, no one likes getting the shit kicked out of ‘em, but getting captured _did_ get Ryuji and Akira a one-way trip to the dungeons, which was a better place to start looking for Mona than anywhere else. Plus, they got an opportunity to get Akira’s persona back while they were at it.

It worked perfectly, too. Sure his windpipe aches a bit, but hey! Worth it. One persona, good as new, and the only casualties were Ryuji’s poor, tortured eyes for having to see Kamoshida in an effin’ thong again. Ugh.

“Let me get this straight,” Akira says, tone flat, which is never a good sign. “You _planned—”_

“Skull! _Joker!”_

“Mona!” Ryuji rushes over to the cell, drinking in the sight of the furry bastard’s little face. “You’re alright! And you remember us!”

“As if I could forget!” Mona says, sniffing. “It’s a thousand years too soon for someone of my caliber to forget his comrades.” It’s almost sweet, ‘till he adds, “I’m not you, after all,” because he’s a terrible little gremlin and the bane of Ryuji’s existence.

“Yeah, yeah.” God, Ryuji’s missed him. He’s horrible.

“A… cat?” Akira asks, and actually, reliving this year is worth it now, if Ryuji gets to experience this particular moment again.

Except he doesn’t.

Instead of exploding like Ryuji expects, Mona’s expression falls into a mask of quiet horror, and he backs away from the bars. “I’m not— You d— I’m not… You don’t remember…?”

Ryuji takes it back. This sucks. Akira’s expression is freezing itself out in discomfort, and Mona looks devastated, and this is so _rough._

Ryuji steps between them, then squats, except, shit, bad leg, _bad leg,_ how did he forget that it’s a _recent_ injury again, _shit that hurts._

“Okay,” Ryuji starts, once he’s settled in a position that isn’t sending his leg directly to hell. “So, from what I’ve seen, we’re all back at the beginning of the school year— ah shit.” He’s going to have to take all his exams over _again._ This sucks. “Anyway, uh, even though Ann and I— and you, looks like— remember everything, this guy…” He jabs a thumb in the direction behind him. “Doesn’t.”

Mona looks lost for another second, which is a weird look on his furry little face. Luckily, his usual superior-but-casually-offended expression settles in fast enough.

“This wasn’t what was supposed to happen,” Mona says.

“No shit?” Ryuji shakes his head. “And here I was thinkin’ you planned all this.” He knocks on the bars of the cage, then stands to open the door.

Mona continues doing what he does best: monologuing and ignoring Ryuji’s jokes. “The world was supposed to reform according to the collective cognition of the people of Tokyo. How could an entire year be erased? Everyone would have built up an entire year of memories and ideas of how the world is meant to be!” He yowls in frustration. “This doesn’t make sense! People would have been born over that year! People died! Things like that have strong impact on the way people see the world!”

“I mean…” Ryuji swings the door open with one hand and scratches his head with the other. “Weren’t you also supposed to disappear, man?”

“That too!” Mona lets out another one of his cat screeches. “Nyarghh! What’s going on?”

There’s a scuffling sound from somewhere down the hallway. Shit. Shadows.

“We can’t hang around here much longer,” Akira says, and Ryuji nearly jumps out of his skin. He hadn’t realized they’d moved to his other side. It’s way too hard to keep track of them without their usual café stink.

“We gotta rub you down with coffee grounds or something, man.”

Akira blinks at him, opening their mouth, then closing it. “Anyway,” they say, turning to Mona, “if we’re going to discuss this, we need to head to a more secure area. Do you know where the nearest…” They snap their fingers twice, thinking. “Safe room? Do you know where one of those is?”

“You always were a quick study,” Mona says, standing proud and tall at a whole fifty centimeters.  “And of course I do! I’m the original navigator of the phantom thieves!”

Ryuji huffs out a laugh. “Lead the way, then, O Great and Powerful Navigator.”

“With pleasure,” Mona scoffs, moving to the front of their group, tail lashing behind him.

 

* * *

 

“Y’know,” Ryuji mutters, glaring up at the eight billionth tapestry of Kamoshida’s smug face, “all palaces suck— don’t get me wrong— but I really effin’ hate having to see this bastard’s face everywhere.”

“Don’t worry.” Morgana crosses his arms, looking back at them with a self-satisfied grin. “At the pace Lady Ann seems to be going, we’ll end up at the core of the distortion sooner rather than later.”

“Oh great,” Ryuji groans. “So instead of the pervert’s ugly mug, we get his shitty taste in decor. Fantastic.”

Akira opens their mouth, but it looks like they change their mind before they say anything, and Ryuji _really_ wishes they’d stop doing that.

Like, he gets it! The old Akira was like this too! Or, still is, or whatever, but it’s so— Ugh. Is it so wrong to want his best friend to be comfortable actually saying whatever’s knocking around in their head? Especially when they’re supposed to be past all this already. Even if, well... They aren’t, anymore.

“We’re here!” Morgana announces, three seconds before he launches himself at the nearest door like the world’s furriest battering ram, rather than going for the handle like a reasonable person.

“That’s not gonna—” The door swings open, so, like, shit. “Okay. Screw me, then.”

“Never underestimate a cat that wants in,” Akira mutters, their laugh coming out more like a puff of air.

Ryuji scratches the back of his head, sighing. “Yeah, yeah. Probably shoulda figured that out by now.”

The warped film of cognitive whatever, stretched like a soap bubble over the crack in the door, bursts when Ann sticks her head out. Or, partially, anyway. It’s kinda stomach churning to look at, actually, considering the rest of her is still all distorted. It’s like when an amusement park ride gets to be too much, and the only stable thing to look at is the machinery, ‘cept Ann’s planted her focus point in the middle of nausea central, everything still whirling away.

 _“—so_ weak! It’s been a breeze!” A peace sign joins Ann’s head, which somehow makes it a billion times worse.

“Glad you’ve had an easy go, at least,” Ryuji says, nudging her over so that he can make his way into the room. The sweet relief of the cushy chair almost makes up for the way his knee aches. Almost. Kinda.

Bones were a mistake.  

“What’s up with you?” Ann asks, her voice more concerned than judgmental. Ryuji’s not sure which is worse.

“Good question.” Akira’s voice is unexpected, but the steel in their tone is a bolt out of the blue.

“Hey!” Ryuji objects, jerking up in his seat. He’s not sure what, exactly, he’s objecting to, but... Hey!

“Sakamoto purposefully engineered a situation where he was almost killed by a shadow, just so we could get down into the dungeons,” Akira says, like a complete and utter traitor.

_“Dude!”_

“You did _what?”_

_“Skull?”_

“I can’t believe you tattled on me!” Ryuji gapes at Akira, raising his hands in shock. “Dude! Not cool!”

“You could have died, Sakamoto!”

“Don’t call me— I wouldn’t have died!” He shakes his head. “I had everything under control.”

“Why wouldn’t you just sneak in?” Mona asks, jumping onto the table so that he’s looming over Ryuji. “You’re supposed to be a phantom thief! Stylish, graceful!” The little dude gestures expressively with every word, which might have been funny if he wasn’t picking back up on the old Criticize Ryuji schtick.

Ryuji rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Because then Akira wouldn’t have gotten their persona. Figured the best way to make sure they got Arséne back would be to just reenact the last go-around.”

Ann’s eyes flash, and sparks start spitting off her gloves, which is scary as shit. “Are you telling me that you almost died _on purpose?”_

“I wouldn’t have died!” Ryuji defends. Why is it so hard to believe that he might know what he’s doing from time to time? “Besides, injuries are temporary. Personas are forever. If it’s between having to deal with a bruise or two or the group being a man down for who knows how long…” He shrugs. Seems pretty straightforward to him.

Ann glares at him for a long moment, then deflates. “What are we gonna do with you?” She groans, but snaps her fingers, sending a healing spell his way anyways.

It’s appreciated, even if Ann’s magic does kinda always feel like he’s trapped in a broiler. ‘Least it doesn’t feel like getting hit by a tornado, unlike Mona’s attempts. At this point, Ryuji swears the cat’s trying out a new way to mess with everyone’s hair every time he summons Mercurius.

Akira mutters something, facing away from Ryuji, and irritation crackles under his skin. It’s not like the frustration’s fair or anything— it’s not even for a good reason, like Akira ratting on him to— from their perspective—  people they don’t even know. This Akira hasn’t had the conversation about how it helps to see the words form and mouths move so Ryuji can actually process whatever the hell’s just been said. There’s absolutely no way to blame them for not knowing, ‘specially when they have a hard enough time looking at people straight on, as is. When they’re not sizing the person up, anyway.

Still. It sucks.

“What was that?” Ryuji asks, turning to face Akira head on.

Akira sighs. “Just… Take care of yourself before anyone else.”

Ryuji barks out a laugh, then gets to his feet. “Hey pot,” he says, crossing over to clasp a hand on Akira’s shoulder, “I got a kettle you should see.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Mona says, voice affectionate.

“You can say that again,” Ann chimes in. “When this is all over, I’m hosting a training camp on how to be selfish. No one gets to go home until they’ve learnt how to take care of themself.”

“I know how to take care of myself!” Ryuji argues. “Big bowl of noodles, extra beef, and a kick-ass movie afterwards. Perfect day.”

Ann makes a face, but doesn’t try to argue Ryuji’s point. Which is great, because it has zero flaws.

“Fine,” she says. “But if we’re going to get any ‘perfect days’ any time soon…” She lets a fireball form in her palm, then closes it into a fist. Scary. “We have a rat to catch.” She grins at them, expression a bit too heavy on the bloodlust for anyone’s comfort.

Well. Guess that’s that for resting, then. Woulda been nice if Ryuji could sit for more than three minutes at a time, but… well. Not like he can’t understand wanting to knock the smug smile off Kamoshida’s face as soon as possible.

“Alright,” he says, grinning back at her. “Let’s do this.”

 

* * *

 

Smallfry shadows are so _annoying._ They’re not exactly a challenge anymore— not for Ann, Ryuji, and Mona, anyway, though it’s not like they can blame Akira for Arséne lagging behind a little— but they’re freakin’ _everywhere._ And they bring friends along.

“On your six!” Ryuji shouts, rolling to dodge the cavalryman shadow’s blade.

“Got it!” Ann spins on her heel, using the momentum to help her whip along its path. The pixie she hits disappears on first impact. “Too easy.”

“See you in hell,” Akira says, dispatching the second pixie with eiha, and god. God. That’s so cheesy and bad. Ryuji loves his best friend, but the best second of his life was the moment Akira stopped saying this shit, and now they’re back to the start.

The second the last of the shadows are out for the count, Ryuji bends over, laughing helplessly. “See you in... “ He shakes his head. “Alright, Moss-man. Shit.”

Akira’s phantom thief outfit fizzles out, since they can’t seem to keep it on just yet, and Akira’s left blinking behind their glasses. “Moss-man?”

“Uh…” Ryuji works his jaw, trying to figure out how to explain an inside joke he shared with an alternate future-but-also-past version of the person in front of him. “Shit. Uh, you had to be there? But you _were_ there, so… Okay, so we were at a festival, but it got rained out? And so we—”

“Skull! Joker!” Mona yelps. “Enemies incoming!”

Ryuji jerks toward Mona and Ann, and sure enough, there are two succubi on the attack. “Shit!”

“I hate this fucking palace,” Ann grits out, readying her whip.

“Oh darling,” one of the succubi says, winking, “I’m sure it’s not all that bad.” There’s a flash of pink light, and shit, hell, right, the bastards have _charm._

Ryuji gets ready to shake some sense into her, but even though Ann’s eyes go distant for a second, she shakes her head, hard.

“I’m flattered,” she says, fire wrapping around her hands, “but I have a girlfriend!”

Ryuji blinks and must miss half of the bloodbath, ‘cause next thing he knows, Ann is looking down at the remains, tossing her hair over her shoulder. For a split second, she looks pretty damn cool. Then she ruins it, sinking to her knees.

 _“No,”_ Ann hisses, dragging out the sound. “Shit. Hell. Damn it.”

“What’s wrong, Lady Ann?” Mona asks, bounding over.

“I _don’t_ have a girlfriend!” She flops backwards, boneless. “She hasn’t confessed to me yet! How am I supposed to recreate that! That was perfect atmosphere!” She sighs, turning over. “Ugh. Shiho’s so cool. This sucks.”

Ryuji crouches down, wincing at the twinge of pain. Shit. He’s gotta stop doing that. “There, there,” he intones, patting her on the shoulder.

“Ugh,” Ann groans, then laughs, turning towards him. “You suck.” She reaches out to flick him on the forehead, but misses, since Ryuji has better reflexes than a seven-year-old.

“I’m sure it’ll work out?” Akira tries. They get a passing grade for effort, probably. Ryuji shoots them a thumbs up behind Ann’s back.

Ann shakes her head, sitting up. Her twintails swing with the movement, whacking Ryuji in the face.

“Thanks!” Ryuji spits, trying to get the taste of hair out of his mouth. “Thanks for that.”

“Oops,” Ann says, wincing. “Sorry.” The next shake of her head is more controlled. She turns to Akira and sighs. “I appreciate the sympathy, but that might be a bit easier to say when you’re the one who doesn’t remember how things went the first time.”

Akira opens their mouth, but then the color drains from their face. “Wait, do you mean that I was dating some—”

“Oh! No!” Ann scrambles to her feet, making an “X” with her arms. “No, I wasn’t saying—”

“Nah, dude,” Ryuji throws out, backing her up. “Unless, like, you and Yusuke were dating or something and forgot to tell the rest of us.” He freezes. “You weren’t, right?”

“How would they know that!” Ann bumps her fist against Ryuji’s head like she’s knocking on a door. “And of course they weren’t.” She turns to Akira. “You _did_ try to ask out the guy who sits behind you once, but he kinda misunderstood. A lot. And thought you may have been threatening him?”

“Oh yeah,” Mona chimes in, “that was brutal!” He shakes his head, arms crossed. “He _did_ promise not to tell anyone I was in your desk, though. So, it wasn’t a total loss!”  

“Oh my god.” Akira takes a deep breath, then raises their hands to their face.

 _“Yeah.”_ Ann winces. “I don’t think you’ve tried to talk to him since. But hey!” She flashes her megawatt, I’m-literally-paid-for-this-expression, smile. “This could be a good second chance?”

“Wait a second!” Ryuji points an accusing finger at his friends. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

“Oh, Skull,” Mona sighs because he’s a bastard who exists to torment Ryuji for the rest of his life.

“This is mortifying,” Akira says through their hands, and ah. That’s why.

“That’s why,” Ann says, too late, which, yeah, Ryuji gets it _now!_ “Also, you’re not in our class.”

 _“Anyway,”_ Akira says, louder than anything else they’ve said today. “What was with whatever that shadow cast on you?”

“Oh, _that.”_ Ann sighs. “That was charm.”

“Shadows have a way of shifting your cognition,” Mona explains. “Sometimes it sticks, sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s almost always annoying. Charm can make you believe that you’re infatuated with the shadow.” Mona puffs up, the way he always does when he gets to lecture people. “It can’t, however, work against romantic orientation. There’s only so far cognition can be pushed.”

“And the dude shadows never seem to have it,” Ann complains rolling her eyes. She huffs, turning to Ryuji. “This is bullshit. You and Yusuke never have to deal with this.”

Thank god for that. Or, like, considering the dude seems to suck hardcore, and is definitely responsible for the shit they’re going through now, screw god, but at least he didn’t make Ryuji have to deal with weird brainwashing shit. Still sucks for Ann, though, so… yeah, screw god.

“Eh,” Ryuji says, shrugging. “They’re too busy smackin’ us around with depression to worry about batting their lashes our way. Or maybe I’m just too much to handle.”

Ann snorts. “You’re too much for anyone to handle”

Akira smiles tentatively, and some of the tension seems to leak out of them. “Maybe the collective sea of unconscious is homophobic?” Their mouth twitches down, and they stiffen again. “That’s… depressing.”

“Tch.” Ryuji waves a hand. “Don’t sweat it, man. We’re used to fighting society at large. Besides, it took us… what, half a year?”

Ann nods.

“Yeah, half a year to find like seven other gay people just hanging around. Not to mention all those people you— past you? Future you? Joker-you—  keep running into around town.” He shrugs. “So what if shadows don’t want to blow Yusuke kisses? Dude’s handsome enough without the ego boost.” Ryuji’s brain catches up with his mouth. “Uh. I mean…”

“Anyway…” Ann has sweet, wonderful mercy on him, for once in her life, and after laughing, she changes the subject. “Akira, you sure picked up on the lingo fast. It took me forever to get ahold of…” She waves a hand, which means she definitely forgot whatever the actual term for society soup is but doesn’t want to admit it.

Akira shrugs. “It’s like the observer effect, right? Or, an excruciatingly literal extension of enactivism, I guess.” They make a face. “Though, our actions would have more of an effect than— Wait, so…” They gesture at Mona’s slingshot. “If we act as if a toy gun is real, that perception cements as reality for the shadows, since they’re products of cognition, right?”

Ryuji nods, ‘cause they’ve gone over that last part enough that he kinda gets that bit, at least.

“So our actions _do_ have a sizable impact on our surrounding environment…” Akira trails off, and yeah, he’s beginning to lose Ryuji here. “So it’s an extended internal reality, but through collective perception, it becomes...” They’re silent for a moment, then tap their fist on their palm. “Oh! It’s semiotics!” They say, as if that explains literally anything. “Huh. Does that make reality itself inherently rhizomatic?”

Akira looks at them as if Ann and Ryuji are in any position to confirm or deny whatever the hell they’re saying. Mona’s nodding, though, so at least one of them is good at pretending to know shit about shit.

“Like… grass. Or ginger,” Akira says, as if that clarifies anything. “Everything’s intertwined. Not like a tree, but more like ginger roots.” _Oh._ Okay, this bit, at least, Ryuji can jump in on. Lucky thing he’s been helping Haru with her garden.

“Yeah, man. Desires and perceptions are all kind of tangled up with reality here.” Ryuji makes a face. “Looks more like veins than roots, down in the thick of it, though. None of it’s exactly high class interior design, though.”

“Tell me about it.” Ann makes a gagging noise, then gestures at the nearest column, which— yeah, those are definitely boobs. This palace sucks.

“Skull’s explanation is a bit simplistic,” Mona sniffs, then launches into a lecture that uses vocabulary so obscure that Ryuji’s not entirely sure he’s speaking Japanese.

Ryuji looks over at Ann, and she makes a face. Looks like she’s just as lost. And also a little angry. Which, who can blame her, really? She’s ready to toast Kamoshida, like, yesterday. Or a year ago, really.

Unfortunately, Mona runs under his own steam and on his own clock, and Akira’s not exactly discouraging him.

What Ryuji wouldn’t give for Futaba’s Akira-and-Makoto-to-Real-People translator right now. At least Yusuke’s not around— last time they had this conversation, they started talking about postmodernism, and post-postmodernism, and triple-flip-inverted-modernism-electric-boogaloo, which isn’t conductive to Ann’s current mission of carving a mass grave out of Kamoshida’s castle

Wait... Now that Ryuji thinks about it, where exactly is Yusuke? Or everyone else, for that matter?

“Hey, guys?”

Mona stops mid-breath, whirling around to face Ryuji. “What?”

“What do you think’s up with everyone else?” Ryuji asks. “Like, If all three of us remember, we have a good chance of everyone else remembering too, right?”

“I would generally assume as much,” Mona says, crossing his arms. He frowns. “Well. Except…” The group turns to look at Akira, who glances away.

“Why is it just them?” Ann asks, pulling at her hair. “If another one of us didn’t, then maybe…” She trails off.

“Yeah.” Ryuji scuffs his boot against the floor. “Not like we have a pattern to work off.”

“By all rights, none of this should be happening at all!” Mona growls. “Ugh! This doesn’t make sense!”

Ryuji shakes his head, then turns to Akira. “What do you think, lead— ah.” He points his hands, palms flat, and sighs. “Right.”

“Ryuji,” Ann huffs.

“I know! But they could still have an opinion!”

“Maybe,” Akira says, voice soft, “it might be a good idea to regroup with your friends? If you’re not sure whether they remember or not, asking’s usually effective.”

“Good idea, Joker!” Mona cheers, oblivious to Ryuji and Ann’s winces. “We can send out a message once we’ve secured our route to the treasure!”

“Uh,” Ann hedges. “About that…”

“Do you have everyone’s chat IDs?” Ryuji asks. “‘Cause I do not have everyone’s chat IDs.”

 _“You don’t remember their IDs?”_ Mona reels back, nearly tripping on his own tail.

“They just sent them to us!” Ann snaps. “They were in our phones! It’s not like we had to memorize them!”

Ryuji’s face twists. “I hope Yusuke’s okay. If he doesn’t remember…” He’ll be stuck with Madarame, back in a shitty situation that he can’t control. Worse, he’ll barely recognize how shit it is, like lead poisoning creeping in.

Ann’s face hardens with resolve. “We’ll do the same thing we’ll do if Haru doesn’t remember, or Makoto. We’ll protect them. We’re not letting them suffer like that again.”

The rest of the team looks back at her, and Ryuji can feel the determination solidify in their veins, even Akira’s.

“Yeah,” Ryuji says, quietly. Then, again, a loud roar: _“Hell yeah!”_ His grin is wide enough to feel like it’s splitting his face, and he lifts a fist into the air. “Not one scummy adult is gonna get away with hurting our friends! Not today, not ever!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If some of what Akira said sounded like Complete and Utter Academic Jargon: it is. It really is. Sometimes you are a pretentious teen who reads Derrida for fun. It happens.
> 
> If anyone wants a cheat-sheet for some of the theories they dropped, though, here's a [ post ](https://dragonomatopoeia.tumblr.com/post/185005445409/wheel-of-fate-is-turning-footnotes) with some explanations about the more obscure stuff the Phantom Thieves talk about in the fic. I'll update it as necessary, whether it's with Akira's philosophy vocab, Yusuke's artistic inspirations, or Futaba's gacha game meta. So! If that sounds like something you might be interested in, be sure to give it a look.


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